"Excuse me, miss, may I?"

Sakura nods, then returns to untying her hiker boots, while a man from behind steps into the metal detector. It sounds. Unlike the security at Port Angeles, the LAX has much tighter regulations and more sensitive equipment. The security team is alert, eyes tracking the x-ray blotches of red, blue, and green.

The object in question turns out to be a wedding band.

Meanwhile, Sakura folds her jacket, delicately lines her shoes sideways in a bin, and plops down her backpack on the belt. At a wave of the security guard, she steps up but pauses before the arch. "Excuse me, sir. May I ask why this is necessary?"

"Just procedure." He beckons her forward.

As Sakura steps into the arch, he places on a grim smile. "So nothing will jeopardize our passengers' safety."

"I see."

Sakura passes breezily, then recollects her belongings. She ties back her shoes, gives it a good solid kick. She zips up, swings over her backpack, and pockets her hands, fingers tracing along the smooth edge of metal. Humming, she sets off for her flight down terminal five.

The woman next in line gets flagged. She bickers with the TSA over baby formula and a bottle of water. Unbeknownst to anyone, enough grams of explosion powder to blow up an entire airplane has slipped through.

One floor below, there is a holdup in the line. "Sir, sir, I just told you that no one may enter past this line without a boarding pass."

Edward snatches a boarding pass from thin air. "I just acquired one."

The security guard raises an eyebrow. "Sir, this is to Vancouver. For one Mrs. Blum."

"And I'm Missus Blum," cries an elderly lady with a limp, furiously trekking over to snatch back her stolen ticket. "The audacity, young man, of-"

"Just let me enter-"

"Hey, what's the holdup-!"

"My flight's in ten minutes-!"

"Bro, I told you this was a bad idea-"

"We've got a problem here, I repeat-"

"WILL YOU JUST LET ME IN!"

The entire three meter radius silences, including the newly arrived TSA chief and old grandma. Edward exhales, and as concisely as he can, "Potentially the most incredible woman of my life is on a flight leaving in T minus five minutes..."

"So?"

"... and I do not have her number."

There is a round of gasps, followed by murmurs amongst the crowd. Emmett pats his brother on the shoulder. "And just so everyone knows, he's an emotionally unstable, horny teenager, so he will not hesitate to purchasing a one way suicide ticket to Volterra if he can't find this chick. Thus, by stalling, you ALL will be responsible for the death of this piece of sexiness. How's that for guilty conscience?"

The crowd shuts up.

"Oh, and the girl in question clobbered his head with a fire extinguisher before she left, so there's a ninety-nine percent chance that, as with all teenage relationships, they will break up anticlimactically, star-crossed or not. Meaning, he'll be on the market soon."

It takes two seconds for the TSA to open the railing, and the grandma to hand over her and her husbands' ticket, winking and jabbing Edward with her elbow. "Have a nice trip laddies!"

"Thank you, ma'am," Emmett says with a salute of his imaginary feathered hat, before disappearing up the escalators.

The brothers scramble to security. "I cannot believe the Romeo gimmick worked," Edward grunted, removing his shoes.

"Emmett McCarty Cullen, playing Benvolio since 1915, at your service. Just be glad I didn't resort to plan B."

"Which would be...?"

"Making Juliet the terrorist."

One furlong away...

Sakura eyes the clock and decides she still has time to buy a pack of pretzels, the cheese kind that tastes eccentric. On her journey to the airport, an inhabitants of the car she sat on had a bag of it, and the smell whipping through the air drove her mad.

When the register dings, she fumbles through her pockets for her U.S. currency and instead withdraws a plastic bag with strands of auburn hair. Although she is quick to tuck it away, and the cashier is too brain-dead to notice, a child nearby does. He is tiptoeing on top of a bulky comics magazine to reach the water fountain, and stares curiously at the weird lady in the hiker boots and hunting jacket. Said lady smiles back.

"One more please," Sakura says, dropping a twenty on the counter. She goes down on a knee and gives the boy the second bag.

"Danke!"

"Nichts zu danken."

Meanwhile, Edward hops over the railing.

"Hold on, isn't this pass to Vancouver...?"

Edward and Emmett are already gone, running down the tunnel to the plane. Inside is a calm atmosphere of passengers, low chatter, and the bling request for an attendant's help with overhead bags. Emmett glances down the rows, becoming more skeptical with every passing second. There is only a handful of redheads, and last time he checked, Sakura is not four, obese, mid aged, pregnant, skanky, male, nor any combination of the above.

He knocks his brother on the arm. "Hey, Ed. All Alice saw was 1:30, right? How are you sure this is the right flight?"

"Correction. 1:30 SW."

"Ah, right, I see." Emmett resumes his search. Then, he walks back to his brother, who is describing the object of his stalking to a passenger. "Edward?"

"...about five-four, five-five, usually in a thick jacket..."

"Edward," Emmett coughs.

Edward snaps up. "You found her?"

"No, but, just for clarification, why does 1:30 SW lead us to Stockholm again?"

Edward does not have time for Emmett's mediocrity. "SW. Sweden. The only flight to Sweden at 1:30 PM is Stockholm."

Emmett scratches his chin in thought. "But aren't there two countries that begin with SW?"

A blink.

"... like Swiss? The cheese?" Emmett prods.

It takes a second for that to register in Edward's brain. "That," he says, "is not of Sweden, is it?"

The gentleman Edward was questioning, unable to slam his head into the seat in front of him any longer, decides to end the plague of stupidity. "Perhaps you boys mean Switzerland?"

The oh crap moment settles in as Edward spells out Switzerland and realizes with chagrin that it also begins with SW.

"And there are three countries," adds a lady from the seat behind the gentlemen. "Don't forget Swaziland."

But no one gives a damn about Swaziland.

Sweden and Switzerland are kind of significant though, and contrary to the American mentality, they are not the same. On top of completely different geographic locations, Sweden and Switzerland's total surface area, population, culture, politics, and language are about as similar as Georgia the country and Georgia the state… which is a useless analogy, because 98% of non-internationals in this airport would not have known the existence of Georgia the country, and half would not even remember Georgia the state.

Well, Edward and Emmett have somewhat of an excuse for this: their school does not offer Geography. If the students of Forks can think Alaska is next to Moscow, they can screw up Sweden and Switzerland as long as they do not become geographers or run for any presidential elections.

Or maybe not. By the time they reach the gate of the other 1:30 flight, the one to Zurich, Switzerland, land of the renowned Klinik Hirslanden hospital, the airplane is already long in the sky. Emmett consolidates his brother with, "It's alright. Grandma Blum's still waiting for you in Vancouver."

Edward growls and pushes on pass, much to his brother's dismay.

"Come on! Think about it, Edward. In a few more years, Facebook will hit mainstream. According to statistics, it's very likely she'll make one, and you can stalk her then. Therefore, there is no need to drag me all over Switzerland. I'm allergic to sheep."

There is absolutely no logical sense to Emmett's argument, not that it matters. Edward is not letting Sakura go, as he marches across the terminal to find the next possible flight to Zurich.

It has nothing to do with his stolen DNA, although the family is freaking out about it. It has nothing to do with romance either, contrary to his cover story.

It has everything to do with that fact that before Sakura, he was merrily continuing his eighth decade of human isolation, self-hatred, and extreme boredom, with just the right dosage of existential angst and contemplations of suicide. Before Sakura, he was continuing his fantastic career focusing on every single nitty-gritty detail why being a vampire is horrible, why his eternal life is eternal hell, and exasperating the nerves off Rosalie, because complains a lot, to himself in particular. His dramatic moments of despondency also does a wondrous job ruining the lovely weather of Forks for everyone.

AfterSakura, he went from a brooding monster to a biologically superior humanoid species with the potential to re-engineer his awesome self to be even better. After Sakura, his biggest nightmare turned into an investigation that could revolutionize the entire world, capable of upgrading the sad population of homo sapiens from horse-wagons to Ferraris. After Sakura, he is living, with reason and purpose.

Edward will risk insanity before he loses someone like that.

A crunch.

"Excuse me, where is the service desk?"

"Past that stand."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sakura says, bringing another pretzel to her mouth. She flips a page of the Banzai magazine, engaged in the caricatures of king shamans, dramatic go playing, and a rubbery monkey pirate. She would have continued onto something with historically-inaccurate ninjas had she not blinked just then.

"Sakura?"

Oh crap.

Before she can get away, Edward has already taken her bag of pretzels as hostage.

"Wait, why are you not up there... somewhere," Emmett asks, pointing to one of the many compass directions facing upwards.

"I help lost boy find mother and missed flight," Sakura says, holding up the Banzai as if it gives indisputable evidence. "How did you know I where am?" Perhaps it is not the pretzels keeping Sakura seated, but her rising eyebrow corresponding with her rising curiosity. She takes pride in her ability to shake off tails, and to find them here is impressive.

"Uh, I can... read minds?" Edward tries at a lie and fails miserably, not so much because the lie is incredibly bogus, but because it is not a lie. "But never mind that. Why should I tell you anything, Sakura, after you nailed me with an extremely dense active fire protection device and stole my DNA."

"Because it is courteous to reply when someone speaks to you. Besides, you have regenerative powers, and I calculated any pain goes away after first eighteen minutes."

"She's got you there."

"Emmett, leave."

"Are you sure you want your common sense to leave-" At the strict point of a finger, Emmett holds up his hands in surrender and backs away.

"Sakura, we need to talk," Edward says.

"I believe you just said you will not to speak to me."

"I said I would not tell you anything, I didn't not say I would not speak to you."

"Is that possible? Or is this idiosyncrasy idiomatic?"

"Yes, it is."

"To first, second, or both?"

"Does it matter!"

"My answer depends on definition of matter."

Edward stops. Meanwhile, Sakura smirks, pleased to know her English has improved to the point she can bullshit off the top of her head, perhaps just capable of stalling long enough until her next flight arrives.

Meanwhile, Edward is mentally commanding himself to not take his anger out in the form of an unruly dent in the first object he sees, which in this case would be a soda machine whose death will upset diabetic lovers everywhere. Instead, he sinks into the opposite chair, bag of pretzels in hand.

"Sakura," he says in defeat. "Are you purposely torturing me. You can't just waltz into my life, claim you can fix everything about me, then leave me half way."

"I have own problems, Edward," Sakura says, leaning back in her chair. "I have no time to chase red tuna."

"It's herring, for Christ's sake."

"I do believe biologically speaking-"

Edward zips her up with a nonverbal linear gesture. "Sakura, I don't think you understand how important this is to my family. Your current solutions are working. The incense is allowing me to gain control over myself. The more I read, the more that blood substitute looks promising as well. You... you are doing the impossible for me."

"That is wonderful to hear, Edward. I found you good research topic, yes? You are intelligent. Finish rest by yourself."

"No, you opened this door for me, and you are going to walk me through it. You promised me a final cure, and I know you've been onto something for the past week."

"You will discover what I have in time. Or do you lack that much confidence in your abilities?"

"No, I am very confident in my abilities. I am very confident that if you're gone, before this week is through, Charlie Swan is going to have his daughter's splattered corpse as a new sauce for his chicken wings."

Sakura blinks back her surprise, then sobers up. "You work on that," she says grimly.

"With your help," Edward insists.

"I cannot." Sakura opts to distract her eyes with the cover of Banzai. "Though, if it does you well, I apologize for indenting your skull with dense active fire protection device and taking your DNA without permission."

Sakura does not suppose Switzerland will refund her chakra, but she can say at least she would not have distractions there. And an entire sidelines commitment that detours her mission is a distraction. Worse, with Edward and his peculiarities, her curiosity is tearing her from the inside out, her heart doing jumping jacks when she thinks of all research she could explore within vampirism.

Edward is not settling for an apology. "Sakura, there has to be something to make you stay."

"I cannot stay," Sakura sighs. "I have own problems, and no time."

"And we have problems too, but plenty of time." Emmett steps in. "How much time is no time?"

Edward turns to him. "What are you getting at."

Emmett run his hand through his hair. "Well, the problem with the new, new girl isn't really a big deal. We can always just chain you down to a chair and stuff you in Alice's closet until she graduates. Besides, we've lived this long without any magical cure, so I think we can live a little longer without it."

"And...?"

"How about we exchange problems as we did before?" Emmett suggests. "Only this time, instead of she fixing our problem first and then we help her, we fix her problem first then she helps us. We've got the resources, the money, and living this long, we've picked up smarts too. Granted that Sakura would be willing to share with us exactly what's making her go to Switzerland..."

The proposal strikes a nerve, and Sakura's finger twitch. If this is what she thinks it is, then everything changes.

And yet, the sun shines in glory through the windowsills, a clear division in the line between where she bathes in the light, and where they stand in the shadows. The clicks of computer strokes, and the soar of the airplanes, five hundred miles in the sky, accomplishing what the people of her homeland cannot dare dream of, carrying her out of a small rainy town and into the highest peaks of civilization.

Sakura realizes that, maybe, she is not running away from distraction but right towards it, escaping the bounds of her mission for her own pursuits.

However, before she can give her response, someone across the terminal points and shouts, "THEM, THEY STOLE MY BENTLEY."

And on the other side, "THE VANCOUVER PASSES."

"Sir, you two are under arrest for the violation of eighteen traffic laws, theft of an automobile, destruction of a cabbage stand, the illegal entering of an international airport, and loitering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you..."

Sakura hangs an eyebrow.

"So, think about that offer," Emmett laughs nervously in handcuffs, as Edward groans and slams his forehead against his brother's shoulder.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, Bella is too irked by the sudden and coincidentally timed disappearance of her two deskmates to concentrate on her homework anymore.

Instead, she finds herself Googling alien abductions, and contemplates whether or not to write a polite rant to tell them what complete assholes they are for ditching her, alone, in a biology lab that accounts for thirty percent of her grade.